Blank
by Green Owl
Summary: Somethin's off here, he told himself as he looked at her, but he figured it was just his general response to her and her strange notions. "C'mere, girl." (Dark? Maybe...)


Title: "Blank"

Author: Green Owl

Prompt: #41 – "Paper"

Challenge: Copper For A Kiss Mini-Challenge (July 2008, 50 Prompts Table)

Rating: PG

Word Count: 800

Author Notes: Dark? Maybe... For bugchicklv. Hope you like it.

Disclaimer: Disclaimer: I don't own or buy/sell/process this mindcrack - I just abuse the _hell_ out of it.

* * *

There were things Jayne Cobb had seen in his life that he wished he could erase from his mind.

Mal an' Zoe trying to "get it on" that one time in the kitchen.

All them festering bodies on Miranda.

That poor Mudder kid's bright eyes going dark as his blood drained out of his body.

The latest was more of a violation of his ears than his eyes and the major reason he'd taken to falling asleep on the dingy, mustard-colored couch in the common area.

He had zero interest in listening to the preliminaries, main event or aftermath of his best friend getting Doc Tam's extra-special Core-flavored "injection" – being subjected to the previews during mealtimes were more than enough to make his skin crawl.

So here he was, stretched out on the couch with a dingy little pillow, one of his ma's afghans and a book.

"Agreement."

Jayne craned his neck to the left and saw that the girl had stolen out of her bed and curled up in one of the two cracked leather armchairs that furnished the room. She was engulfed in one of the passenger dorm blankets, nothing but her head, hands and feet poking out as she flipped through one of the battered books that lined the wall.

"Shouldn't ya be in bed?" he grunted as he adjusted his position on the couch and his hold on his reading material.

"Can't sleep. Imprinted with too many characters," she replied, tracing her hairline. "No smoother for the scratching."

"Ya got two legs, dontcha? Go on in an' git it yerself," he said, motioning towards the infirmary.

"Not allowed," she murmured as she turned the book upside down and traced the letters on the page.

"Who's gonna tell? Me? Be more likely to do the stickin' than the tattlin'." He folded an arm behind his head and readjusted the position of his adventure novel.

She got up from her chair and he put his book down on his chest and checked to make sure that his feet weren't tangled up in the covering. Better be prepared in case she got all jumbled in the brainpain again.

He sat up as she emerged from the infirmary holding a prepped syringe and a disinfecting swab which she placed on the table in front of the couch. "What's this for?"

"Don't like needles," she said, holding out her arm in to him.

"Ain't no medic, girl," he said, eyeing the track marks up and down the inside of her forearm. "Probably poke open an artery or somethin' an' that'd be a whole lotta mess to clean up."

"Please," she entreated, her eyes hyperfocused and bloodshot. "Can't do it myself."

_Somethin's off here_, he told himself as he looked at her, but he figured it was just his general response to her and her strange notions. "C'mere, girl."

She sat down on the table as he ripped open the swab.

"Up and down the inside of the elbow," she instructed softly as he held her thin white hand in his huge one. The scent of ethanol made them both recoil a little as he made three careful swipes along the crook of her arm.

"So," he said, taking up the syringe and holding it between two fingers, "how long before this'll take effect?"

"Indefinite," she admitted as she extended her arm and looked for a vein. "Depends on weather patterns. Maybe seconds, maybe hours. Why?"

"Just wonderin' if'n I'm gonna have to carry ya back to yer bunk's all," he said, squinting at her skin in the warm, golden glow of the lamp. "How long's it gonna last?"

Her response was a soft, wistful smile. "Long enough."

"Ready?" he inquired, twisting her arm a little to make the vein pop.

"Yes." She closed her eyes and let out a slow, measured breath while he held his and inserted the needle. "_Bù lài_. Now, depress the plunger until all of the liquid is introduced into the bloodstream."

He looked up at her face, and saw it again: a combination of determination and desolation that gave him pause.

"Please," she urged, turning her head away from him. "Please, just execute the last request."

He looked down at the slim, stainless steel needle inserted into the paper-thin skin of her elbow.

One quick shift of his thumb and it would be over.

* * * * *

"So what was in that?" Jayne asked, gesturing to the syringe that lay on the table.

"Does it matter?" River whispered, a slender ribbon of her sable hair slipping from behind her right shoulder to waft in the breeze of his steady breathing.

"No," he said, watching her face go blank as he picked her up and carried her to her bed. "No, guess it doesn't."


End file.
